A Most Glorious Death
by FromTheAeroplaneOverTheSea
Summary: There were plenty of people Gilbert Beilschmidt trusted with his life. There was only one he could trust with his death.


A/N: So, this story is dark. Really dark. Warnings for violence, depression, ect all over this story. Basically, shit gets pretty angsty. I'd love it if you tell me what you thought of this one-shot at the end. Also, Litauen is Germany for Lithuania and Prūsija is Lithuanian for Prussia. Both human names and country names are used in this fic. I'm pretty sure most of you know the human names by now, but if not, Gilbert is Prussia, Toris is Lithuania, Ludwig is Gilbert, Francis is France, and Antonio is Spain. Thanks for reading!

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><p>There were plenty of people Gilbert Beilschmidt trusted with his life. There was only one he could trust with his death.<p>

Ludwig would do it. Gilbert knew if he asked, his brother would do it. But it would break both of them in unimaginable ways. He simply couldn't do it to his baby brother. He _couldn't_. He had messed up so badly the first time with letting Holy Rome die, and Germany had enough weight on his mind for such a young country. Gilbert didn't want to add to that pressure by asking Ludwig to end the life of his brother. So Ludwig was out of the question, trustworthy and dependable as he was.

Francis would talk him out of it. The Frenchman was clever and compassionate, a deadly combination in situations like these. He would convince him that it was worth it to wait it out, to die naturally. Antonio was less clever, but more optimistic. Maybe he would say that his humanity was just a phase, that it would fade away soon enough. Maybe he would say that there was hope for him. Maybe Prussia would believe it. But he knew the truth.

The truth was that this had been happening for years, and it was getting worse. Injuries he once brushed off became serious. Nights of drinking were ruining his liver. He had bruises from training that lasted weeks that others didn't get at all. His hands were riddled with bite marks from playing with the dogs and every day there was a constant pain that seemed to emerge from the core of his very being. It weighed him down and crushed his bones and made it hard to get up in the morning. He was becoming human, and it was killing him every day.

So he needed to end it, and he needed to end it now while it was still in control. It needed to end before he became old and sickly and frail and pathetic. He did not want to die like that. Plus, his time was up. He could add nothing more to the world. He had done his part. He already had his victories and his losses, his reigns and his rebellions, his dreams and destruction. There was nothing more for him to add except for the last sentence, the concluding note of his death. And there was one person he needed to do it, because Gilbert couldn't do it himself. He had tried and he had failed, and this was his last resort.

He grabbed his phone and typed in the Lithuanian calling code.

Lithuania had asked him to do this before. Twice. It was only fair that Gilbert asked him at least once.

The first time was when he was being partitioned by Prussia and Russia, split into pieces in 1795. Gilbert remembered it as if it were mere hours ago. He had been sick and pale and feverish, thrashing around in order to avoid nightmarish creatures created in his mind because of the illness. While the deal was being made and Toris was lying dazed and confused, he had a moment of insane clarity. While Gilbert and Ivan were discussing the fate of Vilnius, he gripped the Prussian's hand so tightly that he broke three fingers and whispered "Just kill me. My sword is under my bed. Just take it out and kill me. For Christ's sake Beilschmidt, just _kill me!_" The desperate, shrill shriek that had been the last two words still haunted him. He never thought the stubborn bastard would ask for death, but Gilbert wouldn't give it to him. He was delirious and sick. If he killed him then, it wouldn't have been Toris that died but it would have been some miserable and desperate animal. Perhaps it had been his hatred for Lithuania at the time that prevented the nation's early demise. If he was going to kill that son of a bitch, it damn well better be the real him he was killing.

The second time disturbed him more. It was during the Soviet Union, a random, horrible day in a string of random, horrible days in the 1960s. There were snowdrifts up to their knees and the two had been told to shovel the driveway. It was a thankless and useless task, for every time they cleared it more snow piled back on minutes later. At some point that evening when the sun was dropping and the two were working and it was bitterly cold and windy, Toris took out a knife that had been concealed his shoes.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" Gilbert had asked, taking a step backwards and clutching his shovel.

Toris took two steps forward, offering the other the handle of the knife. "Here. I know that you hate my guts, but you also hate it here. So do I. I know how to get you out. If you kill me, Ivan will be upset enough at you to send you home to live with your brother and you won't have to deal with this place anymore. He may seem like he'd kill you, but he won't. He's not as strong as he pretends to be, but he won't stand for it in your house. Plus, I won't ever bother you again. A perfect situation for everyone. So, go on. This isn't a trick, I swear."

"No! Absolutely not! Have you completely lost your mind?! That is far from good for _anybody._ Poland and Russia will both kill me, your brothers will probably off themselves from despair, your people will be in tatters...It would be the perfect situation for no one except you. I have half a mind to put you in a loony bin, Christ almighty. Go back inside, the cold is making you nuts." Prussia exclaimed, putting his shovel down and his hands up in case Toris went really nuts and tried to stab him instead.

"Alright. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." Lithuania shrugged as if it was just a minor deal and put the knife back in his shoes and kept on shoveling as if nothing had happened. Prussia shook his head at him and went back inside.

Now he would be asking Toris to do it for him. But this was different. Gilbert was already dying, slowly but surely wasting away. This would just be a mercy shot. The first time, Lithuania might have been dying, but he pulled through. Prussia would not.

He finished dialing the number and hit call, trying to seem composed.

"Hello?" Toris said from the other side, exasperation obvious in his voice. It made Gilbert want to cry. This was the last time he would hear someone be exasperated with him, someone fed up with him and not treating him like a pity case. He savored it for a moment before speaking.

"Hey, you need to get down to Berlin. It's urgent." Gilbert told him, tapping his fingers anxiously on his leg.

"Exactly why do I need to get to Berlin?" He inquired. It was almost audible, the way he lifted his eyebrows and doubt dropped from his mind into his face and then into his voice, disguised under paper-thin politeness.

The words couldn't come from his mouth. He couldn't say that he was dying, not in a phone call. Not like this. So, he improvised. "Remember 1795? I'm 1795ing. Wait, that might not be the best analogy. Um... Look, just get down here. Please. If you come here now, I swear I'll never bother you again."

Maybe Toris could sense it, the difference between his normal manor and this. Maybe he knew what he meant. Even if he didn't, he sighed and said "Give me five minutes and I'll be on the way."

Before Gilbert could thank him, he hung up the phone. The dead air filled him with a small sense of hope.

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><p>By the time Toris texted him to let him know that he was in the city and minutes away, Gilbert had everything prepared. The sword was polished, sharpened, and hanging on the basement wall. He wrote letters to everyone he could think of explaining his actions and apologizing for the grief he might cause. He let Gilbird free into the wilderness, although the bird had been hesitant to leave him. Now there was only the actual act to commit.<p>

The doorbell rang sharply, echoing throughout the empty house. It was the last time he would hear that meleody. He opened the door, the harsh January air leaking into the exposed living room. Toris was standing there, looking at Gilbert suspiciously. For the first time in a while, he remembered that the Lithuanian was taller than him.

"Hey." Gilbert greeted, ushering him inside. Toris entered and followed him down to the basement.

"What did you need? You were really vague over the phone." He asked quietly as he looked around the basement. It was tidy, which wasn't unusual, but it was empty. It looked as if he had packed everything away. Even the bed was stripped of its sheets, just a bare mattress laying on a wire frame.

"Well..." Gilbert took a deep breath, willing the words to come. He had to say it. He had to do it. He made his choice and was not backing out now. As the Prussian sat on the mattress, he spoke the damning words. "I'm dying. I've been dying for years. And it's time for me to go."

"Wait, what?" Toris started pacing, counting his steps absently. Sixteen steps until he was across the room, thirty-two until he was at the opposite wall. "Who else knows? Why are you asking now? Why are you asking _me_?"

"Nobody knows but you. And I'm asking now because it's getting worse. I went to a doctor last week. They say my liver and kidneys are shot, my heart's slowing down, there might be a tumor in my lungs, or maybe a fungus. They suggested surgery, but I saw the way they looked at me. I saw it. It's the look people give the dying, Toris." Gilbert couldn't remember ever calling him his human name, ever letting the word slip from his tongue. It sounded nice, he realized. He ought to have used it more.

"So, okay. You're dying. Nobody knows but me. And you need me to...?" Lithuania phrased it like a question, but he knew. In the pit of his stomach and in the deepest and darkest part of his heart, he knew what he had to do. And he didn't want to. He didn't want to kill Gilbert, and maybe never had. For all their fighting, his hatred towards the ex-country stemmed more from duty and history than his actual personality. In all honesty, Prussia reminded him of both Poland and America, and they were two of his best friends in the world.

"Kill me. I need you to kill me." The words were quiet, perhaps the quietest Gilbert had ever spoken. If not for the silence in the room, it might not have been heard.

"I can't." He replied simply. "I just can't do that."

"Yes, yes you can. You have to. I didn't do it for you because I knew that you'd make it. But look at me. Fucking look at me, Litauen. I'm not going to make it. You aren't dumb, and you don't forget easily either. You watched the old guys fade away. You know how much it hurt. And you aren't cruel enough to put me through that. I know you. You're a good enough person to kill me now." Some life and some fire came back into his eyes as he spoke, the sort that hadn't been in him for a while. He stood up and faced Toris, who stopped pacing to stare back. He seemed to be breaking down, admitting that this would be kinder.

"They'll kill me. Your brother, your friends, everyone that isn't me will want me dead. They'll put me on trial for your murder and sentence me to death for it. I'll kill for you, Prūsija. I'll give you your mercy shot if I have to. But I'm not going to die for you. I'm currently not interested in being dead for what might be the first time since I was a kid, and if I kill you, I'll go right back into that place. I'm actually happy now, happier than I've been in centuries. I'm not going to throw that away for you. I'm not going to throw that away for anyone. I wouldn't even do it for my brothers. Find somebody else, Beilschmidt." Toris turned to leave, making his way towards the basement steps to head back up into the wind and cold. But Gilbert grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, leaving finger-shaped bruises on the skin.

"No, no, listen to me. You can't leave me here. God dammit, you _can't_! Look, I wrote everyone letters explaining the whole situation. I even got the doctor's report. Excellent evidence if they decide to put you on trial, which they won't. And you'll feel worse if you don't kill me. You know it. You'll feel so much worse if you leave me to rot. Come on, I'm beggin' you here. Please." Tears were pooling up in his eyes and Gilbert used his spare hand to wipe them away. Composure was giving away to fear of life after death and the knowledge that it was inevitable. If not now, then it would be soon and more painful. This was his best option, but that didn't mean it was good.

Toris sighed. It was a heavy sound that felt like to encompassed the world. It was the sound that duty makes. "Alright. But I want to know that you're one hundred percent sure that you want to do this. If you have even a little bit of doubt, tell me now."

"It's the best option I have." Gilbert confirmed, grabbing the letters from his desk and letting go of Toris's wrist. "When it's done, call Lud and Francis and Antonio and tell them to get over here. Give them these when they do. The one on the bottom is yours. Pass out the rest at my funeral. And make sure they hold up, alright? Make sure they eat and talk about their feelings and all of that shit."

"I will." He promised, looking at the Prussian one last time. Toris tried to picture what he would look like dead. The image wasn't too different from how he looked alive.

"Good. Now get the sword off of the wall. It's yours. Take it once you're done." Gilbert got on the ground and knelt, as if to pray. Toris took the sword from the wall, examining it closely. Gilbert couldn't stop looking at him, the last person he'd ever see. The last person he'd ever see seemed to radiate a light of justice and righteousness that boarded on holy. For how much he hated him at times, Toris had always looked like that to him. He couldn't escape that light, hard as he tried. Perhaps he never really wanted to. He closed his eyes. Gilbert was content with Toris being the last thing he saw.

The sword rested just above Gilbert's shoulder. He felt its presence hovering, almost touching the skin. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Lithuania asked, looking down at him.

"Positive."

"Anything you want me to tell your family or your friends?" This was the last order of business before the actual act. Hopefully he'd say something long.

"Tell them that I wasn't scared, and that I love them. Tell them that I'll see them soon in heaven and not to blame you, and to read the letters. And tell them...Tell them that I didn't want to hurt them by doing this. Can you tell them that?" He put a hand over the cross on his neck, something he had worn for ages. It was only right that he die with it on.

"I will." He promised again, feeling oddly calm about the affair now that it was so close. It was really the best thing he could do.

"Good. And Toris? Before you do this, I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I've done to you. It was wrong of me. If I could do this all again, I would change being so cruel to you. I regret it, really. Every day for a while now, I've woken up and regretted what I've done to you and Poland and Holy Rome and everybody else. Don't say that you're sorry for what you did to me, though. I know you are. You're always sorry for something. But I just wanted you to know that before I go." He spoke boldly, trying to disguise the base fear of dying in ever human being. He didn't want to be remembered as weak.

"I forgive you." Toris said, readjusting his grip on the sword. He knew how to do this. He would make it as painless as he possibly could. Gilbert deserved that.

"Do it." He instructed, a small smile on his face. Prussia was ready to die.

Lithuania raised the sword and made a clean slice, removing the other's head from his neck. By the time he felt it, Gilbert Beilschmidt was already dead.

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><p>Toris did not remember taking the letters and going up the stairs. He did not remember closing the door. He did not remember cleaning the blood off of the sword and leaving it in the guest room. He did not remember dialing the numbers of Ludwig, Francis, and Antonio. He did not remember what he said.<p>

But he did remember Ludwig entering the house, with his cheeks a windburned shade of pink and his hair tousled. He looked so young at that moment, almost like a child.

"What happened?" The German asked, staring at Toris with his brother's blood on his suit and tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He said, handing him the letter. "I'm so sorry."

And as Ludwig read and started to sob, Toris patted his shoulder and looked out the window. People were going about their business and a child was looking up at the sun, prompting Toris to do the same. It was shining.


End file.
